People and Dolls
by 8BonnieBlue8
Summary: This is just a one-shot about the new character on Dollhouse, Bennett Halverson. I thought she was pretty interesting and deserved a little chance in the spotlight.


_Disclaimer: I do not own Dollhouse._

_A/N: This is just a short one-shot I came up with on a spur of the moment thing. I apologise if it gets a little disjointed at times but imagine that's how Bennett would think._

…

I used to play with dolls.

Not that that's anything unusual – lots of people played with dolls when they were kids. The only difference is it didn't just stop when I became an adult. I kept playing and playing with them – they never seemed to get old. Unlike other people, I still needed them.

I had two dolls: Lucy Doll and Caroline – ironic, I know. Lots of kids had more than two . . . but lots of kids had parents who cared to buy them – my parents didn't care much for _me_, let alone for dolls.

I liked playing with my dolls, I liked it a lot. The idea that I could turn them into whoever–whatever I wanted drew me in, as well as the knowledge that I could make them _do_ whatever I wanted – they would die for me and all I had to do was ask. I think it was the control I craved in the end. Having been carted around from foster home to foster home since I was seven years old, I didn't have a lot of control in my life. I didn't have a lot of love either but I had my dolls for that.

Every night before going to bed I made them promise to protect me from monsters – they were supposed to do whatever I wanted, after all, they were supposed to die for me. Every night, my step-dad still came though, big and scary . . . every night I tried my hardest not to scream – good girls lie still and don't scream, he said, and I wanted to be a good girl. They never protected me. I always forgave them in the morning, though – it wasn't their fault they weren't any braver than I was, maybe they wanted to be good girls too.

Apart from my dolls I had one constant friend through it all – Caroline (she had the same name as my doll so she had to be good). She'd been my friend long before the first time I ever set foot in a foster home and through letters and calls she stayed my friend. And when I finally got out of the foster system and made my way slowly back to the City of Angels – spending two years in Texas working at a diner and saving money – it was like nothing had changed. We were best friends and I trusted her. She was the only person I trusted and I loved her.

_I think my mistake was believing she loved me back._

My first move when getting back there was enrolling in university – I'd always done well in school and planned to make something of myself. Within the first twelve months I'd already skipped two years – I was brilliant, they all said. I had Caroline for a friend and life was good. I still kept my dolls by my bedroom door for protection, though.

I don't think it was the arm that made me hate her. Though I loathed the way it impaired my work, got in the way , made people stare and I hated how it looked. I'd been through worse and I could get past it. It was the betrayal that did me in, I think. The one person I'd ever trusted . . . abandoning me. It's not something one easily forgets or forgives.

_I'm positive it didn't do wonders for my mental state._

I needed dolls. Dolls were safe. Dolls could be controlled. Dolls were the only things that could be trusted.

When the Dollhouse found me in the hospital afterwards, I was ready, I was more than ready. All they had to do was let slip the title of their precious company and I was in, I was theirs. Dolls were safe. I would be safe in the Dollhouse. I would be in control again.

I was required to take a psyche test before joining – everyone was. I was diagnosed as a sociopath that had slightly altered views on right and wrong. I wasn't too sure about the sociopath part but the 'right and wrong' could have had something to do with the part of interview that I used to stab the shrink in the hand with a letter opener – he got too close. Mr. Lipman didn't seem to mind, though – according to him a slightly unhinged programmer was better any day than one who had a fully balanced conscience.

I still had to have regular checkups though. I thought this was a fair arrangement for someone who'd purposely burned down their family home when they were seven, killing their mother and step-father in the process. Not that anyone ever found out that I was the one responsible.

I never let anyone get close again.

When Caroline – Echo – whoever you wanted to call her – finally came in, I was more than ready to carry out the deed. When I hurt Caroline, I hurt them all – anyone who had ever hurt me, anyone ever responsible for damaging me. I hurt them all.

I was in control again. And that's what it's really all about in the end, isn't it – Control? The pleasure of revenge.

I could kill her – I could kill her and I wouldn't bat an eye.

I _would_ kill her.

But I didn't. I didn't get the chance.

I threw the Caroline doll out my apartment window that night and regretted the action almost instantly – now I only had one doll left. It went sailing down onto the pavement eight stories below and immediately disintegrated – it had been made of china, after all. I imagined the real Caroline's head smashing into a thousand pieces much the same and suddenly didn't feel so bad.

I didn't tell my shrink about this, I think he was still pretty wigged from just the knowledge that I still talked to dolls. I'm not insane, after all.

I used to play with dolls.

And I still do.

Only, now it's not the innocent game of a dysfunctional child who's never had any real friends – not Caroline, not dolls. I don't know what the game is.

The stakes are higher.

The dolls are bigger and so am I.

But we're both still here and I'll learn the stakes.

I think that's enough.

Though, deep down, I'm not so sure I'm really playing around anymore. I don't know if I ever was.

I'm Bennett Halverson and I used to play with dolls. Now I play with people.


End file.
